


Man's Best Friend

by xxSparksxx



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mostly Fluff, light angst at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxSparksxx/pseuds/xxSparksxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man’s best friend is his dog, or so they say. But Garrick is Demelza’s dog, and has other ideas. </p>
<p>Or: two developing relationships after Ross brings Demelza and Garrick into his home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man's Best Friend

**Author's Note:**

> A present fic for rainpuddle13, who deserves it. Beta-read by the wonderful mmmuses.

_i._

The morning after he brought the girl Demelza home with him, Ross stood in his kitchen and stared down at her. It was barely dawn; he was awake early, woken by his own demons, and so he could hardly be surprised that the child was still asleep. Grey light filtered through the windows and onto the scruffy pile of girl and blanket and dog on the floor before the hearth. She had been told to sleep in the box bed last night, Ross knew. He’d seen her into the bed himself, in fact, and impressed upon her the idea that she must stay put until morning. And yet here she was, on the floor with a blanket over her and her dog stretched out against her side.

Her dog. Garrick, she’d called it. It was a flea-ridden mutt, with mud encrusted into its fur and dried blood on one ear. He distinctly remembered telling her that the dog could not come into the house. Ross stared down at the pair of them and felt irritation rising within him. If the girl couldn’t obey a simple order like that, he could not keep her here. He could barely afford another mouth to feed, and he had no time to spare for a defiant maid. Jud and Prudie were hard enough to corral into labour; he didn’t need another servant who ate his food, drank his ale, and barely worked.

But the girl hadn’t _seemed_ disobedient, yesterday. She’d let him put her under the pump without more than a token protest, and afterwards she’d done as he told her, and gone into the kitchen to let Prudie feed her and set her to work. She had been a little sullen when he’d told her to keep the dog outside, it was true. And, he remembered, she had been willing to go back to her abusive father rather than be parted from her dog. Ross had seen the marks on her back, old and new alike, red welts that had clearly been made with a cane or a belt of some kind. She’d been willing to go back to _that_ , if Ross had insisted that he could not take the dog, too.

Ross suffered a twinge of sympathy. Poor girl, he thought. The dog was probably her only friend in the world. But he had to be firm. He’d worked hard enough to get Jud and Prudie cleaned up. He would not let fleas and lice back into the house. Demelza must keep herself clean, and Garrick must stay outside for as long as he was infested. That was that. The girl must obey him, or leave. There was no alternative.

One of the dog’s ears pricked up. It opened one eye and looked up at Ross, who gained the distinct impression that he had not yet been given the dog’s approval. It was a ridiculous thing to think, but there it was. Perhaps the dog was as protective of its mistress as she was of it.

The dog’s other eye opened, then it lifted its head and barked. At once the girl, Demelza, awoke and shushed him. Garrick barked again, and then Demelza saw Ross. Her eyes widened and she curled her fingers into the fur on the dog’s back. She looked prepared to flee, as if she expected to be struck and then turned out of the house, and wanted to try to escape the former. Ross bit back his instant, sarcastic remark; she would learn soon enough that he was not a man who made it a habit of striking his servants. Reprimanding her for a learned response would do no good. Only time would teach her to react differently.

“I told you the dog must stay outside,” he said. “Was I unclear in any way?”

“No, sir,” the girl muttered. She didn’t seem prepared to offer any defence, and Ross warmed to her because of it. She knew she had gone against his wishes, but was willing to take the consequences, no matter what those might be.

Ross looked down at her, this half-feral girl and her mongrel dog, and steeled himself against the pathetic sight. “The dog must stay outside,” he repeated. Demelza’s lips pressed together and a slightly sullen expression came into her eyes as she stared up at him. “If you can prove to me he doesn’t have fleas,” Ross went on, “I may change my mind.”

Demelza brightened at once. “Yessir,” she agreed. Then she bit her lip, and glanced down at her dog. “How’d I do that, then?” she wanted to know.

“Give him the same treatment you’ll be getting,” Ross said. The girl looked back up at him quickly, horrified, and Ross nodded. “Wash your hair under the pump every day until you’re free of lice,” he instructed her. “And wash the rest of yourself, as well – all of you, every day.”

“Every _day_!” Demelza exclaimed. Her hand tightened in Garrick’s fur, and the dog whined at her. “But I don’t smell no more, not after yesterday!”

“Every day,” Ross said firmly. “The dog too, until he’s free from fleas.” He didn’t envy her the task; Garrick didn’t look as though he would submit to frequent washings without a fight, even for his mistress. He suspected that she would try once or twice, perhaps even three times, and then would give up and accept her companion’s exile from the house. But at least she’d have no cause to give him those doleful looks, if she was kept apart from the dog by her own failing and not entirely by his edict. “Now send him out,” he added, “and get a fire started.”

“Yessir,” Demelza said. She scrambled to her feet and led the dog to the back door. Ross watched them and bit back a smile. He’d give her a week; after that, he was sure, she would be resigned to Garrick’s banishment.

 

* * *

 

_ii._

“GARRICK!”

Ross leaned on his broom and listened. He was cleaning out the stables, and outside in the yard he could hear the excited barking of Demelza’s dog. It was Demelza who had yelled, and now she proceeded to scold Garrick, loudly and with an unnecessary amount of colourful language. Ross schooled his expression – it would not do to smile and show any sign of leniency – and went to the stable door to see what was going on.

The dog was prancing and leaping about the yard, flinging something up into the air and then catching it again, clearly having a joyous time with whatever he had found. Demelza was sprawled out on the ground beside the pump, her skirts sodden and a scratch on her forearm that could only have come from Garrick’s claws. There was a bucket nearby, upended. She had been trying to wash him, Ross assessed, and Garrick – as usual – had objected.

Demelza had been trying to get him clean for well over a month now – nearly seven weeks, in fact, since that very first morning when Ross had offered her the chance to have her dog in the kitchen. He had to admit that she had done well. Garrick had been at least doused in water, if not actually washed, on more days than not. His fur was clean, and a few shades lighter than Ross had first seen it. He often had muddy paws, but there had been a lot of rain lately, and Ross’s own boots were hardly in a better state. All in all, Ross was impressed by the girl’s determination and found himself rather interested in seeing which of them would win in the end: Demelza and her wish to have Garrick in the kitchen, or Garrick’s utter refusal to submit to his washings with any sort of good grace.

“Garrick!” Demelza said, holding out a hand for him. “Come on, come here. Give it here. Gimme.”

But instead of going to his mistress, the mongrel dog lolloped across the yard towards Ross. He had something in his mouth, which he deposited at Ross’s feet before sitting back on his haunches, looking up at Ross as if waiting for praise.

It was half a rabbit, Ross discovered. The back half. He lifted it up; Garrick was watching him intently, and Ross’s mouth twitched for a moment before he heaved the carcass up and away, out towards the gate. Garrick set off at once, galloping towards his quarry and then loosing another volley of barks when he found it. Ross shook his head, amused, and then stepped out of the stable doorway and wandered across to Demelza.

“You’ve not given up yet, then,” he observed, as Demelza stood up and began to wring out her drenched skirts. She still wore her trousers beneath her skirts, he saw, even though she had a new dress and was so proud of it. He wondered whether she wore the trousers to make running away easier, or simply from force of habit. She had seemed more settled here over the last few days, since he’d taken her in to Truro. Force of habit, he decided.

“No, sir,” she said. “He’s gettin’ cleaner, I reckon. An’ he don’t scratch so much as he used to, so maybe he don’t have so many crawlers.”

“He’s certainly cleaner,” Ross agreed. He was about to suggest that Demelza should call the dog over to let Ross check him for fleas, but he changed his mind. Garrick was obedient to Demelza, to a point, but he would have to learn to obey Ross, too. So instead of telling Demelza to summon Garrick, Ross did it himself. “Garrick!” he called. “Come here, boy.” Garrick dropped his dead rabbit and turned his head towards Ross, his ears pricked up. Ross whistled. Demelza inhaled to speak, but Ross shook his head and held up a hand. “No, he must learn,” he said. “He might be your dog, but he’s living in my house. Well,” he amended, when Demelza opened her mouth again, “on my land, anyway. Garrick! Come here.”

For a moment he thought Garrick wouldn’t come. The dog stood there, watching him, his tail wagging, as if weighing up his options. But then he trotted across the yard to Ross, sat down practically on Ross’s boot, and barked happily. He looked rather as if the idea to move had been his, rather than Ross’s. Ross shook him off his boot and pretended not to hear Demelza’s husky laugh.

“Good boy,” he said, because he, at least, would pretend that Garrick had moved in response to his order. He crouched down and fondled one of Garrick’s ears, almost idly. Garrick huffed at him, but he sat still and let Ross check behind his ears and at the scruff of his neck. There were still a few eggs, Ross saw, but not many live fleas, at least that he could see. The washing was clearly doing its job. “Give it another couple of weeks,” he said to Demelza, “and then – GARRICK!”

Garrick had decided he’d had enough of being inspected and had leaped up and away, and his powerful back legs had caught Ross across the shoulder. Ross lost his balance and toppled over, landing hard on his backside in the puddle of water left from Garrick’s earlier misdemeanours. Ross could feel water soaking into his breeches. Demelza was laughing, bent double with mirth. After a moment Ross began to laugh too. Garrick had galloped off to find his half rabbit, and seemed oblivious to any harm he had done. He was a character, Ross had to admit, and rather like his mistress in many ways. He was a rather endearing thing, really. Ross couldn’t deny that he was developing a peculiar sort of fondness for the dog – and for Demelza.

 

* * *

 

_iii._

“Sit – _sit_. Good boy.” Ross waited for a moment to make sure that Garrick would stay where he was, sitting on the ground in front of him. It was early evening, and Ross had been walking back from Wheal Leisure when he had come across Garrick, frolicking about in the long grass. In no particular hurry, Ross had paused to greet the dog, and had somehow ended up repeatedly throwing a stick for Garrick to chase. He excused it to himself as being good training for the mongrel – who obeyed Demelza, most of the time, but who had yet to entirely develop a similar obedience for Ross.

He lifted the stick up; Garrick watched it keenly, his limbs braced to pounce. But he didn’t move, didn’t leap up to try to snatch the stick from Ross’s hand, so Ross counted that as a win. He threw the stick as far and as hard as he could, and Garrick set off at once, barking madly as he went. Ross smiled, amused by the dog’s enthusiasm. He was an overgrown puppy, really, bigger than when he’d first come to Nampara with Demelza, but still all awkward legs and energetic behaviour.

Garrick came racing back to him, stick in his mouth, and Ross wrestled with him for a moment before Garrick released the stick. Ross chuckled and patted Garrick, a good whack to the side in the way he liked.

“Good dog,” he praised. “Well done.” Garrick huffed and flopped over onto the ground, rolling onto his back and looking up at Ross with an expression that seemed expectant. Ross rolled his eyes, but he bent over and scratched Garrick’s belly. “You ridiculous creature,” he said. “Why I ever let you come here…” He didn’t finish his sentence; he knew why he’d let Garrick come to Nampara. And he did like the dog, really, even if he did have a tendency to knock people off their feet – and an _appalling_ habit of bringing bits of dead animals into the kitchen.

Garrick grumbled when Ross stopped petting him and straightened up, but in a moment the dog was back on his legs, panting and whining, his eyes fixed upon the stick that Ross still held. Ross chuckled again, and threw the stick. Garrick went chasing after it but didn’t bring it back immediately, so Ross walked on up the valley towards Nampara house. He was hungry, and looking forward to his supper. Demelza was becoming a remarkably good cook, given how little instruction Prudie was able to give her, and he reminded himself that he ought to make sure to tell her so. Compliments were not something he frequently gave, on the whole, but Demelza blossomed under even the slightest kind word, so much so that Ross felt compelled to be more generous with his praise.

Garrick came back to him just as he reached the end of the lane that led around to the back of the house, to the farmyard buildings. The dog didn’t bring the stick with him this time; instead he had a rotting carcass that might once have been a rabbit, but was now too decomposed to be accurately identified. Garrick dropped it at Ross’s feet and let loose a volley of barks. ‘Here,’ he seemed to be saying, ‘for you.’

“Garrick,” said Ross, “that is absolutely disgusting. I’m amazed that Demelza lets you sleep in her bed.” He kicked the thing away, grimacing at the smear of _something_ left on his boot. Garrick whined, and instead of going after his carcass he began to run in circles around Ross, barking loudly and leaping up, as if trying to get Ross to play with him again. “No, Garrick,” Ross said. “Go on. Go and find Demelza, she’ll put up with you.”

“Garrick? What are you up to?” Demelza appeared at the farm gate, a broom in her hand, her hair swept up and wrapped in some sort of kerchief. There was straw sticking to her skirts, but otherwise she looked fresh and young and full of vivacity. “Oh, sir,” she said. “Did ee call? I heard Garrick…”

“Garrick decided I was desperately in need of a piece of rotting vermin,” Ross said, gesturing towards where the thing had landed. “You should train him to bring back whole rabbits for you to cook,” he added, as Demelza unlatched the gate to admit him. “Then he might at least be useful. Or rats – surely he could go after rats.”

“He don’t like how they taste,” Demelza told him. “P’raps we should get a cat. Aunt Mary Rogers in Sawle, her cat’s just had a litter. Cats is good for rats.”

Ross considered it for a moment, but then shook his head. “And have Garrick hound it to death?” he suggested. “I don’t think so.” Garrick was still in the lane, but Ross closed the gate anyway. Garrick had long since proven his ability to climb or leap over the gate at will. The dog seemed able to get almost anywhere he wanted, these days – including many places Ross would rather he didn’t go, like the hay loft in the barn, or on top of the kitchen table stealing Ross’s dinner. “I’m sure he’s grown again,” he said to Demelza, idly.

“We both have,” Demelza laughed. “I never ate so well in my life, afore comin’ here.”

Garrick came scrabbling over the gate then, chasing after his mistress, and Demelza laughed again and tried to keep him from tearing her skirts with his enthusiasm. Ross glanced her over, while her attention was held elsewhere. She _had_ grown, though not as much as Garrick. There was more flesh on her bones now – she no longer looked like she was half-starved. Her hair was longer, her face fuller, her back more erect. She looked happy, Ross thought. She looked confident and contented. He was surprised to realise how much pleasure he gained from the sight of it.

 

* * *

 

_iv._

In the few days since Ross had married Demelza, the few weeks since she had first gone to his bed, the kitchen door had gained an unacceptable number of new scratches. Deep, regular scratches in the wood, formed by claws. Ross scowled at the door and then scowled at the dog that was stretched out just inside the back door in a patch of sunlight.

“This,” he said, “has got to stop.”

Garrick lifted one ear, opened one eye, and then turned his head away from Ross. The dismissal could not have been more clear, and Ross’s frustration was matched only by his amusement. Ever since he had married Demelza – ever since he had taken her to his bed – Garrick had been showing Ross a cold shoulder. He did not come when Ross called, he ignored Ross if they happened to be near each other…he had even failed to bring Ross one of his rotting carcasses, a thing he normally did regularly, if not quite daily. He was happy enough with Demelza, following her about outside the house as usual, playing with her when she could spare time, bringing her rabbits and fish and gulls just as much as ever. It was Ross who was the subject of the dog’s displeasure, not Demelza.

The scratches on the door were only another sign of it – but a sign that Ross could not, would not, allow to continue.

He went over to Garrick, crouched down, and scratched the dog’s head. Garrick opened his eyes with an air that seemed to be expressing displeasure. Garrick had been enjoying his nap, Ross supposed, and didn’t want to be interrupted. He shouldn’t be sleeping where he was, anyway – sooner or later somebody would trip over him, and then there’d be hell to pay. Especially if that somebody was Jud, whose view on dogs was that they should all be shot on principle.

“Now, listen to me,” Ross said. “We’re going to have to come sort of an agreement, Garrick.” Garrick blinked lazily at him. “I know she’s always been yours,” Ross told the dog, “but you’re going to have to learn to share.” Garrick’s tail thumped against the floor once, twice. “She’s mine now, too.” His wife, strange as it was. It was still too new for him to think of it without marvelling. It was so new, so strange, and yet at the same time he almost felt a sense of inevitability about it. Demelza was so much part of his life now, part of the life of Nampara, that somehow making her his wife could almost be seen as merely the next logical step.

Garrick whined. Ross had stopped scratching his head, lost in his own thoughts, and Garrick was complaining. Ross huffed a laugh and resumed scratching. “You spoiled thing,” he said. “Nobody’s kicking you out of the kitchen, you know. Just because Demelza isn’t sleeping here anymore – ah. That’s it, isn’t it?” Garrick lifted his head into Ross’s fingers, demanding more, but Ross gave his side a gentle whack and then straightened up. He could hear Demelza in the hallway, singing as she came, and it wouldn’t do to let her think he was more fond of the dog than he really was. “Well, you slept alone for months before you got rid of your crawlers,” he said to Garrick. “You’ll learn. I won’t give her up, Garrick, so you’ll have to get used to it.”

“What must he get used to, Ross?” Demelza asked. She stood framed in the kitchen doorway, looking trim and fresh and tidy, except for the smudge of dust across her cheek. She had a duster in one hand; clearly she was already hard at work, though she’d barely been up half an hour. Ross felt a swell of fondness rising up in him, and he closed the gap between them and wiped away the smudge with his thumb. Demelza looked startled for a moment, then she smiled at him. “Do I look a sight?” she asked. “I thought I’d get the dustin’ done, in the parlour, while the fire’s gettin’ hot enough.”

“You work too hard,” Ross said. “You must try to remember you’re mistress here now.” Demelza’s mouth twisted into a scowl, but she didn’t say anything. Ross tweaked her nose, and the scowl was chased away by another smile. “Make Prudie do the dusting,” Ross told her. “As for Garrick, he must get used to sleeping alone, because I certainly don’t intend to.”

Demelza blushed, and she lifted her hands to her cheeks as if to hide from him. “Oh, Ross,” she said, quite softly. Ross was tempted to kiss her. It was a temptation that he seemed to feel quite often, at present, and there was no longer any reason to resist. But Demelza drew away from him and went to poke at the fire. “Garrick don’t seem too upset to me,” she said over her shoulder to him. “I ain’t heard him whinin’ at night, anyway.”

“He might not be whining, but he’s certainly unhappy,” Ross said dryly. “Look at the state of the kitchen door!” He gestured towards it, and Demelza obediently went to look.

“Oh, well,” she said. “It’ll polish out nice. Mrs Daniel gave me a new recipe for a polish. She’s got a cousin in service, she says it’s the best for good oak like this.” She trailed her fingertips across the scratches in the wood. Ross watched the movement, distracted for a moment. Then he shook his head and went back to Garrick, who was still lying at the back door, basking in the sunshine.

“Go on, up,” he said, nudging the dog with his foot. “Demelza may excuse you, but I won’t. You’ll be sleeping outside if there’s any more of it.”

Garrick looked up at him reproachfully, but Ross was implacable, and after another nudge Garrick stood up, yawned and stretched, and then sauntered off into the yard as if it had been his idea to move in the first place.

 

* * *

 

_v._

Ross came into Nampara house quietly, keeping his footsteps light and without calling out to Demelza. It was new to him, the need to come quietly into his own home, but it was a need that he was willing and glad to fulfil. Somewhere in the house, he knew, was his daughter Julia, and if she was sleeping, he had no intention of waking her. Julia had already proved a light sleeper, and Demelza herself was snatching sleep whenever Julia allowed it. For both their sakes, Ross made sure to be quiet when coming home, until he knew whether they were awake or asleep.

He checked the parlour first, hoping to find Demelza resting, at least, if not actually asleep. She’d only been allowed out of bed two weeks ago, and she seemed to think that meant she could go straight back to her normal workload. Ross thought otherwise, and he had Dwight Enys on his side. The birth had been much more straight-forward than Ross had feared, but Demelza had bled a little and become dizzy the first few times she had tried to stand, and so Dwight had decreed a lighter load for her for now, with plenty of rest and nourishing food. Demelza found this restrictive; Ross, who had spent the first week after Julia’s birth worried about childbed fever and the three months before the birth worrying about every other conceivable outcome, was resolute.

She was not in the parlour. Ross went next to the kitchen, working up a lecture on his imperative need for her to take better care of herself, but found the kitchen empty. He was about to leave, to go upstairs to find his wife, but caught sight of something from the corner of his eye and stopped in his tracks.

Julia was in her small cradle beside the kitchen table. Beside the cradle, sitting upright like a sentry with his chin resting on the cradle’s rim, was Garrick.

Ross’s first instinct was to rush forward and shoo the dog away, but Julia was _asleep_ , and he’d learned already the power of her lungs when she was woken abruptly. So he checked the instinct, and instead made slow, careful steps towards the cradle. Garrick’s ears pricked up and he rolled his eyes towards Ross, but otherwise he made no move, and he didn’t bark or huff a greeting. Then, when Ross reached out to him, Garrick bared his teeth and gave a low growl.

Garrick had never growled at Ross before, and it stunned him. For a moment Ross stood, staring down at the dog and the cradle and his sleeping daughter. Even in the early days, Garrick had never _growled_ at Ross, never treated him with aggression. For him to growl now almost made Ross fear the dog had gone rabid.

But before Ross could do anything, Demelza appeared at the back door. “Oh, Ross,” she said, smiling at him. She had a basket in her hand, full of herbs from the kitchen garden. “I didn’t expect you back so early,” she said, coming into the kitchen. Oblivious to Ross’s tension, she put her basket on the table and patted Garrick’s side. “Good boy,” she said. “Good boy, Garrick.”

Ross drew in a deep breath. “Demelza,” he said slowly, “did you leave Garrick guarding our daughter?” Demelza glanced sharply at him, and then she nodded. “You trusted him,” Ross went on, trying to keep his voice down for Julia’s sake, “when he brings us dead rabbits and gulls and – what if he took it into his head that she’s a furless rabbit? She’s too small to –,”

“Ross,” Demelza interrupted him, putting a hand on his arm. “Ross, d’you think I’d ever do anything that might harm her? I did hope you thought I’d a little more sense.” She looked upset at the very suggestion that he might have so little regard for her sense, and Ross found himself on the back foot.

“No, of course not,” he said. “Of course I don’t. Not with any great seriousness. But Demelza – Julia is barely three weeks old – and Garrick is…” He waved a hand, trying to find the right words to describe Garrick, that overgrown mongrel who had toppled Demelza off her feet more than once. “Garrick is so large,” Ross said at last. He knew full well that it was a pitiful excuse, and he supposed Demelza had the right to roll her eyes at him.

“Garrick wouldn’t hurt her,” she said. “No more’n he’d hurt me – or you.”

“He _growled_ at me,” Ross protested.

Demelza frowned. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, Garrick, you daft thing.” She crouched down beside the dog and held his face between her hands. “Ross is family,” she told him. “You know that. Don’t go growlin’ at Ross, eh? Good boy.” When she let him go, Garrick heaved a great sigh and lifted his head from the cradle. He gave Ross a look, and then he went across the kitchen and out of the back door, his tail wagging as he went. “There,” Demelza said, straightening up and giving Ross a brilliant smile. “He’s only a dog, after all. Most likely Julia smells more like me, that’s all. He’ll learn.”

There was, Ross perceived, no point in arguing with her. And she was right; Garrick had never _hurt_ anyone, not intentionally. Rabbits and cats and any birds he could get his paws on – yes, he hurt those, when he could catch them. The occasional scratch for Demelza, when she’d persevered with washing him. So if all Garrick was doing was guarding the cradle…well, Ross supposed he could live with that. For now, at least, until he saw whether it was a reasonable idea or one of Demelza’s flights of fancy.

 

* * *

 

_vi._

Ross’s head hurt. There was a pounding behind his eyes, his mouth was dry, and there was a dull ache in his chest. He’d taken up his seat on the bench outside the back door hours ago, the shade cool against his skin and soothing for his head. But the sun had, inevitably, moved. The shade had gone. The relentless heat did nothing to ease his physical discomfort.

The headache was because he’d been drunk for about three days now, and he was finally trying to become sober again. The chest ache – heartache – had a different cause. Always self-critical to a fault, Ross in his increasing sobriety was keenly aware of how poorly he had treated Demelza at the Warleggan’s ball. Her first ball. He hadn’t even told her how lovely she’d looked, how proud he’d been even beneath his drunkenness. What a mess. What a mess it all was, Jim Carter and poor Jinny, and Demelza, all of it.

And now Demelza was…well, he wasn’t sure where she was. She was somewhere in the house, but she was silent today. She wasn’t singing, or humming. She went about her work quietly and carefully, as if she was treading on eggshells and daren’t make a sound for fear of worsening his foul mood. It was only adding to Ross’s sense that he had disappointed her, yesterday evening. He knew she understood his grief and his rage – he knew she did. But that didn’t mean she was happy about how he’d behaved, how he’d neglected her. Ross rubbed his eyes and grimaced. He’d known how nervous she was and still he’d ignored her in favour of a succession of glasses of brandy and the recklessness of a gaming table. No wonder she was being so quiet today.

All at once the chickens that had been peaceably scratching around the yard broke out in a chorus of clucking and squawking, taking off into the air and fluttering down again a few yards away. Ross didn’t even have to look to know what had startled them; it was Garrick, emerging from the barn and trotting across the yard towards the house. He never went for the chickens – he knew better – but the flock had a healthy respect for him, and never failed to go running and hopping away when he made an appearance.

Ross whistled. It was a feeble effort because his mouth was so dry, but Garrick came to him anyway, tail wagging, ears pricked up. Ross held out his hand for Garrick to sniff, and then the dog sat down beside him and rested his head on Ross’s knee.

“Well, at least I can’t have upset you,” Ross muttered. “What have you been up to in the barn, you overgrown mongrel?” Garrick gave a little whine and rolled his eyes up to look at Ross, but otherwise made no response. “And now,” Ross went on, “I’m talking to a dog as if I expect him to answer me. What a sorry state of affairs.” He fondled Garrick’s ear, then bent over to pick burs from the fur of the dog’s sides and legs. “You’ve been wandering in the woods,” he accused Garrick, speaking softly, no real irritation emerging in his voice. “If you keep straying over to Treneglos land, John Treneglos is liable to shoot you.” Garrick made a huffing noise and Ross took it as an answer. “Yes, he will,” he said, “he’ll shoot you, even if he does sniff around my wife like she’s a –,” He cut himself off as a hand came to rest on his shoulder, a slight pressure. Garrick lifted his head from Ross’s knee and yipped a greeting. Ross stopped picking burs from his fur.

“He doesn’t sniff,” Demelza said gently. “And even if he did, d’you really think I’d be interested?”

“After the way I treated you, I’m not sure I could blame you if you were,” Ross muttered. He cleared his throat and straightened up. Demelza sat down beside him, leaning against him, and Ross put his arm around her waist. Garrick stood up, trotted around to Demelza’s other side, and sat down again, his head on Demelza’s knee this time. His loyalty, Ross reflected ruefully, was clear. Ross would do if Demelza were not present, but as soon as Demelza appeared, Garrick chose her.

“He paid me some nice compliments,” Demelza said, “and he danced nice enough.” She took his hand in hers, tangling their fingers together. “I’d have rather danced with you,” she added, more gently than ever. It didn’t sound as if she meant to rebuke him, but Ross grimaced and clutched her hand tightly in his.

“I know,” he admitted. His voice was still hoarse; he cleared his throat again. “I went intending to be angry with them all,” he went on, “and somehow you got tangled up in it. I…I was too angry to be pleased that you were able to enjoy yourself.” Demelza said nothing, but she rested her head on his shoulder and Ross felt her quiet forgiveness sinking into his bones, chasing away the ache in his chest. There was more he ought to say, compliments that he should have paid her last night, but they had waited this long; they would wait a while longer.

“John Treneglos wouldn’t _really_ shoot Garrick, would he?” Demelza asked after a while. “Not really?”

“If he thought Garrick a stray, he might do,” Ross said, glancing down at the dog, which appeared to have fallen asleep on Demelza’s foot. “But Garrick looks too well cared for, these days, to be a stray.”

“Well, if he might shoot a dog for no reason, I don’t like him at _all_ ,” was Demelza’s decided reply. Ross chuckled and held her closer. He still felt somewhat wretched, still furious and grieving and full of reproach, but here, in the sun with his wife close to him, he found a few minutes’ peace and contentment.

 

* * *

 

_vii._

Ross folded his arms and watched from the kitchen window as the Paynters made their way, slowly, out of the farmyard and into the lane that led away towards Sawle. They each had a bag, and a basket swung between them. They were going, for good, and Ross wasn’t sorry for it.

Neither was Garrick, who was prancing about behind the Paynters, leaping and yapping and generally making it quite clear that he was pleased to see Jud going. Ross didn’t blame him in the slightest. Ever since Garrick had come to Nampara, a flea-ridden puppy trailing around after his ragged mistress, Jud had been his enemy. Jud had cursed at the dog, thrown things at him, kicked him – or tried to – and Garrick, in turn, had teased and tormented Jud. He had stolen food from Jud’s plate, tripped him up, and woken him from drunken slumbers with loud barks.

Jud didn’t like dogs, and dogs didn’t like him. It was a mutual dislike that was therefore a self-perpetuating cycle. But now Jud was going, and Garrick had, at last, triumphed.

“Call him back, Ross,” Demelza requested. She was at the table, trying to persuade Julia to eat a slice of dried apple. She looked a trifle weary; her face had a pinched look that he didn’t like to see. She would miss Prudie’s company, he knew. He was also aware that Jud had done almost no work and Prudie had done as little as she could get away with. The truth of the matter was that with them gone, there would be a good deal of extra work around the house and farm, for Ross and Demelza both. Demelza wasn’t afraid of hard work, he knew, but even so, the prospect of it, of work without companionship other than a child only just weaned, must surely be adding to her unusual low mood. “Call Garrick back,” she said again, “or Jud’ll be flinging stones at him. He’s got enough scars as it is.”

“If you like,” said Ross, though he privately felt that Jud wouldn’t dare do anything of the sort, not now he’d been turned out of Nampara without so much as a day’s notice. But he went out into the yard, shut the back door behind him, and made a piercing whistle to bring Garrick back to the house.

Garrick, as always, took his own time in obeying Ross. He always had to make it clear that, when Ross gave him a command, he obeyed on his own terms. He would sit, or fetch, or lie down – but always a moment or two after Ross ordered it so. For Demelza, the dog would do almost anything and without any delay. Ross always viewed the discrepancy with a measure of hilarity, even when the delay annoyed him. Garrick had always been Demelza’s dog, and would be her dog until the day he died; Ross, in Garrick’s eyes, remained a usurper.

Ross had to whistle again to get Garrick to abandon his pursuit of Jud, but at least the dog came at the second whistle, bounding across the yard with a frenetic wag of his tail. He offered Ross a volley of barks as a greeting, and Ross shook his head, amused despite himself.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “You’ve seen him off at last. Well done.” Not that Garrick had had anything to do with it, of course, but Garrick didn’t know that, and couldn’t understand it. It was the tone he responded to, more than the words, and as Ross didn’t speak harshly, Garrick seemed to understand that he wasn’t in trouble for chasing Jud. He sat down at Ross’s feet, barked again, and allowed Ross to scratch behind one ear. “Well, at least you’re pleased,” Ross murmured. “Somebody ought to be, eh?” He found a scab, just below Garrick’s right ear, that he was quite sure Demelza didn’t know about. Ross didn’t know how Garrick still found other dogs willing to fight him, but perhaps this was from a bramble, not a dog. “At least you’re happy,” he said. Garrick heaved a heavy sigh, flicked his ears, stood up, and trotted away from Ross towards the barn. Ross straightened and brushed his hands off on his breeches. Garrick was happy, even if nobody else was.

Well, he amended, so was Julia, who knew no better and cared for nothing more than to be warm, fed, and loved. She and the dog; quite a pair.

Garrick reappeared then, coming back to Ross at a gallop. He had something in his mouth, and Ross guessed what it was before Garrick got close enough for the dead animal’s head to be visible from one side of Garrick’s mouth. A rabbit – again. Garrick came galloping up to Ross, barely avoided colliding with him, and dropped the carcass at his feet.

“Thank you,” Ross said dryly. “Now all my problems are over.” He picked up the carcass and flung it away as hard as he could. Garrick, as he’d predicted, went leaping away to retrieve his quarry. Ross took advantage of the dog’s distraction to return to the kitchen, where Demelza was still trying to help Julia to eat, though now she had moved on from dried apple slices to small cubes of cheese, upon which Julia had already passed approval. Demelza looked up when he came in, and smiled softly.

“She’s doing better,” she offered. “That tooth’s finally through, I think.” Julia, as if to express her agreement, lifted up a chubby fist and waved it at him. Ross smiled, and went to deposit a kiss on Julia’s forehead, and then on Demelza’s.

“Good,” he praised. No matter what else happened, he could always rely upon Demelza to find and cherish happiness in their life together. He might be morose, moody and discontented, but always she would find some ray of sunlight shining through, somehow. Like Garrick, Demelza’s needs were simple and her joys gladly shared.

 

* * *

 

_viii._

Ross felt unnaturally calm as he made Demelza lie down, and put Julia back into her cot. He felt calm when he made sure there was plenty of life left in the candle, when he dressed, when he left the bedroom and went down the stairs, and calm as he sat in the hallway and pulled on his boots. He wasn’t overly agitated, not clumsy from anxiety or tight-chested from panic. He knew what he was doing; there was no mental blackout, such as he had heard some men describe in times of heightened stress. He would go to Dwight, bring him back, and Dwight would help Demelza and help Julia.

If it was the putrid sore throat, then they would both recover. There was no alternative; Ross could not contemplate an alternative and so, for now, he felt the kind of calmness that often preceded a storm.

At the threshold he paused, and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Demelza was up in their bed, Julia in the cot. Neither was likely to move, and neither could come to much harm in the half hour or so it would take for Ross to reach Dwight’s cottage and then return. And yet Ross stood frozen, hesitant. They would be alone while he was gone. There was nobody else at Nampara now – nobody except…

Ross went to the kitchen. Garrick was there, curled up on an old cushion in front of the fireplace. The fire itself was almost gone, just a few glowing coals left amid the ashes, but Garrick was, as ever, determined to get every last bit of warmth from it. His head was on his front paws, his tail curled around his body. He opened his eyes when Ross came in, then lifted his head and made a sound that seemed enquiring.

“Shh, Garrick, good boy,” Ross said. He stayed in the doorway, but held out a hand to Garrick. “Come here,” he commanded. “Come here, Garrick.” It took a moment, but Garrick rose and stretched, as if he had all the time in the world, and then he padded across the kitchen floor to Ross. He sniffed Ross’s outstretched hand, and licked a stripe across Ross’s palm before Ross could stop him. Ross grimaced and wiped his hand on his breeches. “You’re coming upstairs, Garrick,” he said. “Follow, Garrick. Follow!”

Garrick knew the command ‘follow’, and at first he seemed happy to obey. He trotted out of the kitchen at Ross’s heels, across the hallway, but then he baulked at the stairs. Garrick had been up the stairs once or twice, but always before he’d been chased away with a sharp rebuke – not only from Ross, but from Demelza too. So Garrick had learned not to go there, and Ross supposed he was confused, now, at being told to follow up into a forbidden place.

“Follow,” Ross said again, ascending to the first step. Garrick whined and backed away a little. Ross covered his face with his hands for a moment, took a deep breath, and then crouched down and reached out for Garrick. “I know, Garrick,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I know. You’re not allowed up there, and I’ve shouted at you before. But this is for Demelza.”

Garrick’s ears pricked up. He knew Demelza’s name. He knew his mistress, would do anything for her, and Ross hoped that the dog would do, now, what he’d been forbidden from doing before – for Demelza.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “Demelza needs you. And Julia. So come on, Garrick.” He straightened again, and made a clicking sound with his tongue to encourage Garrick further. “Follow, Garrick.” Ross started up the stairs, hoping and praying that Garrick would follow. He didn’t look back, but he wasn’t even halfway up the stairs before he heard Garrick coming up after him, nails clicking against the wooden steps. Then Garrick overtook him, slinking past Ross and going straight for the master bedroom. The door was closed, but Garrick put up a paw to the handle, as if he could open it himself.

As soon as Ross let him into the bedroom, Garrick leaped across the room and onto the bed. Demelza seemed asleep, and Ross was worried that she would wake up from Garrick’s energetic activities, but a closer look revealed her flushed with fever. If she was asleep, it was not a sleep from which she would be easily roused. Fear rose up within Ross, but he squashed it ruthlessly.

“Settle down, Garrick,” he said quietly. Garrick was nosing at Demelza’s hand on the blankets, but when Ross spoke, he lifted up his head and gave an enquiring sort of whine. Ross patted an empty patch of blanket, and Garrick sat down obediently. “Guard, Garrick,” Ross instructed him. “Guard Demelza. And Julia. On guard, Garrick, until I get back.”

Garrick knew ‘guard’. He settled down, his chin on his front paws, and he fixed his eyes upon Demelza. His ears were erect, his whole posture alert. He was ready for the slightest disturbance, Ross knew. He’d seen Garrick guarding Julia many times now, and knew that the dog could be trusted to stay awake. If anything happened – if Julia should wake and cry, or roll out of her bed, or if Demelza’s fever should worsen and she began to move in the bed, Garrick would bark loud enough to wake the dead.

Ross scratched Garrick’s head. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Stay on guard. I’ll be back soon.”

He could trust Garrick with their lives; and yet Demelza looked worse than ever, and Julia had pushed away her blankets, so Ross went back downstairs, found his coat, and set out in search of Dwight.


End file.
